It's Not My Time
by Moonlite Knight
Summary: After the war, all Harry wanted to do was recover and sleep. But Hermione refused to allow him that one little wish. So, when he ended up in the past as the new DADA teacher, he knew exactly who to blame. Her, not him and his idiotic curiosity.
1. Fame and Necklaces, Both Quite Deadly

_**Points to Note: Once upon a time, this fic was entitled, 'Saving the Crystal of Time'. Then the authoress reread it and fainted from horror. Once she regained conscious, she edited, rewrote, and rethought everything and ended up with this.**_

_**Also, this fic doesn't pay much attention to the sixth and seventh book, mainly because I wrote the first version of this before either came out. **_

_**Title comes from the song **__**It's Not My Time**__** by 3 Doors Down. Check it out, it's a great song. ^^**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though admittedly, it would be quite nice if I did. _

**It's Not My Time**

Chapter 1: Fame and Necklaces, Both Quite Deadly

When Harry grudgingly woke that day, it felt as though someone had been using his head as a Bludger, for a very long and brutal Quidditch game. He tried to lift one arm to make sure that that was not why his head was pounding only to discover that overnight, his arms had acquired the weight of several sacks of flour. Deciding it was not worth it to stay conscious and deal with the headache, he gave up and sank back into his dreams.

Some days one simply sprung out of bed, ready to take on the world and more. Other days, one took their sweet time waking up and facing the world. Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter had a category all his own. Most days, he did his upmost best to stay in bed and, well, sleep. And sleep. And then, perhaps sleep some more. If he was lucky, he'd manage to sleep the entire day away. Hopefully today would be one of those days. No, he _was_ going to sleep through the entire bloody _bright_ and _sunny_ day.

The fourth, or perhaps fifth, time he woke up, sunlight had overtaken a majority of his bed room, making it near impossible to stay asleep. Harry groaned as he attempted to bury himself deeper into the gold and green pillows in a futile attempt to hide from the increasing amount of golden rays that filtered into the room. His bed was so warm, so comfortable, he just didn't want to leave it. He was pleased to note that his headache had dimmed to just a faint pounding, easily ignorable if he focused on other things. Such as not giving into the sun's efforts to get him out of bed.

He kept his eyes clenched shut but hints of light still found their way past his eyelids, reminding him that it was the time when most people his age would be out, working or socializing or something. He held out for another half hour before surrendering to the light. The wizard rolled over and squinted at the window and groaned again. It was clear from the high position of the sun in the annoying clear blue sky, it was _way_ past noon.

"Why couldn't it be raining?" Harry grumbled to himself as he attempted to block out the bright sunlight by shoving his face into one of his many pillows. If it'd been raining, he'd at least have an excuse not to get up.

He kept his head buried until the need for air became too great. Raising his head, he winced at the brutal sunlight once again pierced his eyes. He really wished he had remembered to draw the curtains before going to bed. It was so bloody hard to sleep when there was sunlight pounding down on your eyelids.

Then he remembered that this bedroom no longer possessed curtains as they had been confiscated by Hermione after he had slept for three days straight, only getting up long enough to eat and use the restroom. Speaking of which, Hermione was going to murder him. He'd promised to come and help her and Ron clean out the attic of their newly bought little cottage, Crystal Falls. He was supposed to be there, he peered at the sun again, maybe five hours ago. Yup, Hermione was going to kill him.

It didn't matter that he, like the rest of the wizarding world, was still recovering from the war. It didn't matter that he and Ron were legally adults. It didn't even matter that they both had played crucial and nearly fatal roles in the Final Battle. Hermione would still lecture him to death. Maybe it was the fact that they both acted like children at times which motivated her to treat them as though they were merely first years.

Harry sat up and stretched, suppressing a wince as his cramped muscles stretched. He had hoped that perhaps marriage would help her mellow out a bit, but no such luck. If anything, getting married to Ron had led her to only become more obsessed with the health of her friends, particularly Harry's. Though, in the end, no one really blamed her for being overprotective. Each of them dealt with the loss and pain inflicted by the war in their own unique way.

Hermione dealt with it by taking a great interest in the health of all her friends and family. Ron dealt by finding humor in everything around him. And Harry, he dealt by sleeping and, on the occasion when Hermione refused to let him sleep, flying. Lately though, he too had taken up Ron's method of healing by making a joke of everything, hence, why Hermione insisted on treating them as children. Though, as the new owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, having a sense of humor was a necessity.

A humorless smile found its way to his lips as he remembered the fate of the shop's previous owners. Neither of the twins had lived through the war, both had gone down fighting side by side to the bitter end.

Before his thoughts could get any gloomier, Harry stood up and left the welcoming comfort of his bed. Ignoring the whining protests of his muscles, he made his way to the bathroom to get ready to head for the newest Weasly couple. There was time enough to get depressed about the aftermath of the war later.

He dressed and freshened up as quickly has his aching muscles would allow him. An hour and a half later, he grabbed the bag of books which Hermione had asked to borrow from the library of Sirius's, now Harry's, family home. Since he had regrettably discovered that morning just how fine the weather was, he grabbed his Firebolt and opened the front door, thinking that he could at the very least fly there. He took one look outside and promptly shut it again.

"Harry Potter!"

"Did you see him?!"

"Did you see his scar?!"

"He's so cute!"

He winched as the cries penetrated his eardrums. Darn it, it was too early to deal with this. It was at times like these that he really regretted his decision to not live in Sirius's house. It might be gloomy, huge, and decidedly depressing, but at least it offered privacy. But no, he just had to go and rent a house near Hogsmeade. What had he been thinking?

Harry groaned, pressing one hand to his aching forehead as he stubbornly ignored the shouts. The Last Battle had been _weeks _ago, yet there was still an adoring crowd of fans who stalked his every move. There was no way that he was going to risk going through the crowd. He was flattered and all, but did they have to camp out on his front lawn every day until they caught a glimpse of him?

He raised a corner for his curtains; Hermione had yet to confiscate those. He could see hundreds of witches and wizards standing outside. Some had dyed their hair black and drawn a lightning bolt star on their foreheads. Others preferred to hold signs proclaiming their love and devotion.

Harry could see one witch with black hair jumping up and down, holding a sign, which proclaimed_ I Love U Harry_,and was wearing a robe that seemed to be made entirely of cutout pictures of himself. Alright. That was rather creepy.

He let the curtain drop again as he slid to the floor. He couldn't go out there, they'd eat him alive.

It might have been a bit stupid of him, but he honestly had not expected his popularly to rise to such heights after the Final Battle. Considering his luck, it had seemed more feasible for the entire wizarding world to decide that he was too powerful and attempt to get rid of him. He still half expected to be thrown in Azkaban for some false charge any day now. He had never imagined having a fan base, especially not one as…_enthusiastic_ as this one.

Pushing the frightening fans out of his mind, Harry turned his attention on getting to Ron's and Hermione's home. Flying was definitely out. He scanned the small, but comfortable room His gaze fell on the fireplace. Great. Just great. Unless he was willing to make an illegal Portkey, attempt Apperation despite his condition, or wade through the fans, he had no choice but to Floo there.

Why is there never a choice that doesn't involve potential injury_, _he wondered as he walked to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of the powder, he threw it into the fireplace.

"Crystal Falls!" he shouted, stepping into the emerald-green flames.

Harry kept his eyes shut firmly as he felt himself spinning faster and faster. Just as he was beginning to feel ill, he felt himself slowing down. Before he had a chance to brace himself, he landed face first onto the cold hard kitchen floor at Crystal Falls, the bag of books not far behind. The wizard sat up rubbing his nose and holding his now bent glasses. He really hated Floo traveling.

"You're late, mate," said a familiar voice. Ron Weasly appeared from the doorway into the kitchen, grinning at Harry.

"Yeah, well." Harry said sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair. "I sort of lost track of time…"

"You mean you fell asleep." Ron interrupted, his grin taking on a devious edge. "Oh, you are so in for it when Hermione gets here."

Harry winced. "Is she that mad?"

Ron snorted. "Mate, if I were you, I'd be turning around and Flooing away from here."

"Good idea." Harry turned around intending to do just that. He never got the chance.

"_Harry James Potter!"_

He turned around to see an extremely livid Hermione glaring at him. He couldn't help but sigh. Oh, he was in for it now.

"_Do you have any idea what time it is? It's three, you're six bloody hours late. Did you even listen to the healers? You—"_

Poor Harry had no choice but to listen to Hermione rant on and on about responsibilities and the importance of keeping promises. Judging from the way she went on and on, one would think that Harry had used an Unforgivable Curse instead of overslept a few…some…a lot hours.

Harry looked at Ron, hoping for some support, but the redhead was too busy trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter. He was actually clutching the side of the doorway in an effort to stay upright.

Okay, Harry thought thoroughly annoyed with Ron's behavior. It's not that funny…

He turned back to Hermione who was still lecturing.

Actually, this was downright terrifying.

At that moment, Harry would have chosen facing those crazy fans instead of being in this room with Hermione. Heck, he'd even face Voldemort again than stand here before the angry witch. Hermione lectured on, unaware for the moment at least, of Harry's drifting mind. On the bright side, Hermione seemed to have frightened his headache away.

"_Harry!_"

Startled out of his thoughts, Harry quickly focused his attention on Hermione, who glaring down at him, her bushy brown hair flying everywhere.

"Have you even heard a word of what I've said, Harry?" she demanded, glaring.

"Of course I have," Harry immediately replied, attempting to grin disarmingly. It came out more like a grimace of pain.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh really?" she said coolly. "Then what was I just saying?"

Harry put on his brightest, phoniest grin he could muster on before answering. "You just asked me if I've heard anything you've said."

The silence that followed this statement was so thick that one could not make a dent in it even if they used the sword of Gryffindor itself.

"Wahahahahaha!"

Apparently Harry's answer was too much for Ron. Unable to contain his laughter any longer, the red head had fallen to the floor, clutching his stomach

Harry's lip twitched but he quickly halted the smile that was threatening to pop up. The last thing he wanted to do was give Hermione the impression that he had not paid any attention to her lecture of maturity. He contented himself with pasting an innocent expression on his face, ignoring the wizard who had started to roll around in his mirth, while mentally bracing himself for the storm that he was certain would arrive.

It never came.

Rather than blowing up like Harry was expecting her to, Hermione merely sighed and shook her head resignedly.

"Why do I even bother with you two?" she asked the fireplace.

"Because you love us!" Harry and Ron replied with large grins.

"I must be mental." Hermione said, but she was unable to stop a small smile from forming on her face.

"I've been saying that since third year." Ron said, grinning from his position on the floor.

Ignoring Harry and Ron, Hermione turned around, stepped over Ron, and proceeded into the kitchen without another word.

"Thanks so much for your help back there," Harry said sarcastically to Ron. Really, was it too much to ask that a best friend save him from the wrath of pissed off witches every now and then?

Ron just grinned up at him, unaffected by the sarcasm. "Mate, I may be a Gryffindor, but I'm not suicidal."

Rolling his eyes, but unable to argue with that logic, Harry started after Hermione. The bag of books lay forgotten where it had fallen haphazardly in from of the fireplace.

"Do you think she's still mad at me?" he asked as he stepped over Ron and proceeded into the kitchen.

Ron got up smirking. "Don't know, why don't you ask her?" he said, taking care to stay as least five steps behind Harry. Just in case.

Hermione was busy slamming every pot and pan she could get her hands on onto the kitchen counter when the two entered. The two wizards watched her silently for a few minutes; one wondering if he should retreat, the other wondering just how much his friend would be chewed out before the day was over.

Deciding to take the chance, Harry opened his mouth and began to ask. "Hermione, are…"

But the glare Hermione sent his way murdered the words in Harry's throat even before they had had a chance to fully form.

He heard Ron chuckle and mutter under his breath, "Guess she's still mad."

"Of course I'm still mad, Ronald!" Hermione snapped having also heard Ron's remark. She took another pot form a cupboard, slammed it onto the counter, picked up a different pot, and slammed it onto the stove.

Unnoticed by Harry and Hermione, Ron silently made his way to a remote corner of the kitchen where he could watch the drama unfold safely out of the way.

"C'mon Hermione," Harry said, his voice betraying slight guilt. "I'm sorry all right, I swear not to oversleep again."

Temporarily ceasing her banging and slamming of the innocent, and now badly dented, pots and pans, Hermione turned around and sent another glare at Harry. However, this one wasn't nearly as bad as the previous one. "Harry, you _always _say that and then you _always_ show up late. You _need _to understand that sleeping all day isn't healthy!"

"I can't help it," Harry protested, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "I'm still recovering from the last battle. I can't help being so exhausted."

Hermione's glare softened a bit more at this. Not by much, but it definitely wasn't as murderous and terror striking as it had been before.

She couldn't deny what Harry had said. Though the last battle had been weeks ago, the Boy-Who-Lived had yet to recover fully from it. According to the Healers at St. Mungo's, Harry had completely exhausted his magical core. Exhaustion was to be expected, they said. Most died from suffering from such an ailment. The Healers, still trying to get over the fact that the boy had _lived_, really had no idea how long it would be before the simplest of tasks ceased to exhaust him.

They had little idea of how to treat him as well. All they could say was that Harry practice as little magic as possible and _not_ give into the temptation to sleep all day. He would be in danger of falling into self induced coma if he committed either act. This diagnosis did not go over very well with the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Defeated-the-Dark-Lord. It was bloody hard to just ignore his exhaustion and the intense need to just fall on the nearest comfortable piece of furniture and simply pass out.

And to make matters worse, Harry had made the mistake of confiding in Hermione and Ron about everything that the Healers had said. Since then, Hermione had done all in her power to get Harry to follow the Healer's simple, albeit vague treatment plan. She even managed to coerce Ron into helping out every now and then while she researched for more cures, though the boy was more likely let Harry get away with sneaking in a few extra minutes of sleep.

"Harry," Hermione began, no doubt ready to launch into another lecture about what the Healers had said.

Luckily for Harry, Ron decided that it was time for him to interfere.

"C'mon Harry, the attic's upstairs." He interrupted, ignoring the look his wife sent him. "We'd better start cleaning now if we want to finish before dinner. Hermione probably won't feed us if the attic isn't sparkling by then."

And with that said, Ron practically ran out of the kitchen, closely followed by a very relieved Harry.

"Thanks Ron" Harry said as they climbed up a set of stairs. Both could still hear Hermione's indignant voice saying something about "boys" and "shirking".

"No problem," Ron replied cheerfully. "Reckon you've been told off enough times by her today already."

"Yeah." Harry agreed whole-heartedly, as they reached the door to the attic. "I don't know how you survive being married to her." He added as Ron opened the door.

Ron grinned smugly. "I manage."

Harry's first impression of the attic was that it was large. His second was that he had never seen anything so messy before in his entire life. Everywhere he turned he saw were either spider webs, boxes, or both. There was one brown colored chest stuffed away in one corner, particularly entombed in webs. Had the attic ever been cleared out anytime this century?

Harry looked hopelessly at Ron who was smirking at Harry's expression.

"Well, we'd better get started." Ron said cheerfully as he proceeded into the room and began a futile attempt to open one of the few web-free boxes.

"Can't we use just magic?" Harry asked hopefully, pulling out his wand, still standing in the doorway.

Ron snorted as he ripped off the lid. "And risk Hermione's fury? Do you want to live to see tomorrow or not?"

Resigning himself to his fate, Harry put away his wand and grabbed a broom that had been left near the doorway. Armed with the broom, he began to attack any spider webs in his way. Harry could not help noticing that Ron had chosen the side of the room that was not overtaken with spider webs and resolved to find a way to get revenge for that later.

He continued with his battle with the webs in silence and eventually reached the web-buried trunk that he had noticed earlier. Curiosity getting the better of him, he took out the most of the spider webs with one swift sweep and began attempting to unlock the chest.

"So, Harry," Ron said suddenly as he viciously lifted the lid off another web-free box and peered inside. "Speaking of marriage, when are you finally going to ask Ginny to marry you?"

Harry was so startled by this unexpected question that he somehow managed to whack himself on the head with the broom. Rubbing the emerging bruises and ignoring Ron's snickering, Harry dropped the broom, fell onto his knees, and aggressively began trying to open the chest.

"Well?" Ron prodded, pulling a very old fashioned jacket out of the box and staring at it, before flinging it carelessly behind him. "Merlin, the lot who lived here before sure were pack rats. That must be from the, what, fourteenth century?"

"What makes you think I'm going to ask her?" Harry muttered, hitting the top of the chest. It still didn't open.

"Well, you'd better." Ron said, suddenly stern and serious. "She's madly in love with you and I know you fancy her as well."

Glaring as the chest and trying hard not to blush, Harry said, "It's not like before was a good time to ask."

He tried once again to open the chest, and this time, to his slight surprise, it opened. Peering curiously inside, Harry missed Ron's reply. What he saw inside the chest intrigued him even more.

That huge chest was just for this, he wondered as he reached inside and pulled the object out. He'd been expecting something a bit more sinister.

In his hands, Harry held a strange necklace that appeared to be made entirely of crystal. It consisted of seven large different colored crystals strung together with a chain that also appeared to be made of crystal, but was far too flexible.

"What's that?" Ron said, tentatively walking up to Harry, his eyes scanning everything for spiders.

"Not sure," Harry replied inspecting the necklace. "It's a necklace."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's obvious, but it doesn't look like any I've ever seen before."

Harry didn't answer. He simply stared as the necklace in his hands. He had the strangest desire to put on.

"Harry, be careful," Ron said, eyeing the necklace distrustfully. "It may be full of dark magic."

Harry couldn't help snorting at this. "What's it going to do, make the wearer ugly?"

"No," Ron replied, flushing to the tips of his ears. "It could be cursed or something. Remember the necklace that Katie Bell got a hold of in sixth year?"

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, still staring at the necklace. There was something odd about it, but it didn't seem to be dangerous.

"Harry, you'd better just put it back," Ron said worried, but unwilling to touch the necklace himself. Unconsciously he began edging away from it. "Harry, I'm serious…"

But Harry was no longer listening. He was so entranced by the necklace that he didn't even realize that something was wrong. If he had been in his right mind, he would have wondered why he was caring so much about this necklace when he had never shown any interest in any sort of jewelry before.

But Ron was in his right mind and was currently, fighting down the beginnings of panic. There was something _wrong_ about the necklace, but Harry wasn't listening. He had to do something, fast. He had just made up his mind to knock the necklace out of his friend's hands, when Harry suddenly slipped it over his neck.

The second the necklace touched the skin on his neck, chaos struck.

Horrified, Ron could only watch, as a whirlwind formed around Harry, moving faster and growing strong every second. Shielding his eyes from the wind that was growing harsher with every passing second, Ron shouted his best friend's name as he fumbled for his wand.

"_Harry!_"

But Harry stood motionless in the middle of the disarray, his hands still clutching the necklace, his face expressionless, but his eyes wide and fearful. Harry could only watch as Ron took a step too close and was thrown clear into the wall across the room. He tried to shout, to see if Ron was harmed, but his throat had ceased to function, as had his feet.

The wind grew stronger and fiercer, picking up dust and cobwebs along the way, obscuring the attic from Harry's view. Unable to see and unable to move, Harry was at the complete mercy of the wind. It tore at his clothes and hair, and, to his utter amazement and fear, began to lift him off the ground.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Harry attempting to force himself to tear the necklace off, but his arms refused to listen. Gritting his teeth and mentally cursing himself for his foolishness, he forced his hands which were still stuck to the necklace to close upon it. Praying desperately that it would work, he summoned all his willpower and jerked his hands away.

The chain snapped, sending the seven crystals it held tumbling into the wind which promptly sent them spinning in different directions. But Harry had a different problem to deal. Either the strain of breaking the chain had been too much for Harry or snapping the chain had activated another curse, but he could feel the blackness clawing at the edges of his brain. He blinked his eyes frantically, trying to see but he couldn't resist the pull for long._ Why in Merlin's name had he put on the bloody necklace?_

Reluctantly letting his fall close, he was only vaguely aware that the wind was slowing down.

And then the darkness claimed him.

**END CHAPTER ONE**

_**Review please?**_


	2. Wanted: Crazy Individual to Teach DADA

_Disclaimer: The only way that Harry Potter or any of its characters will ever belong to me is if J.K. Rowling leaves them to me in her will. Since she is alive and healthy, and she has no idea that I even exists, this will never happen. _

Chapter 2: Wanted: Crazy Individual to Teach DADA

When Harry awoke to find the left half of his face pressed uncomfortably into the ground and the smell of nature obscuring his senses, he knew he should not have bothered getting out of bed that morning. _Why_ had he gotten out of bed today? Why hadn't he had some sort of epiphany warning him that everything that day would go wrong? Why?

Groaning, he carefully lifted himself up, wincing as his vision spun out of focus for a few seconds. His headache had also returned, as the pounding in his head happily informed him. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass before opening them and taking in his surroundings. He was in the middle of a forest. A very dense, creepy, entirely unfamiliar forest. All he could see were trees, trees, and some more trees. There were a few odd plants here and there, but trees appeared to be the dominant species.

Harry closed his eyes again for a few seconds before opening them, hoping against hope to see Ron grinning at him or Hermione in the middle of a lecture. All he saw were the indifferent trees.

While he had been in the Forbidden Forest, the only large body of wood that he personally knew, more frequently than most people, he was not acquainted enough with it to tell if he was currently in there at that moment. Though, if he was, that still left the question, of how.

One does not go to their best friends' house with the innocent intention of helping them settle in, after facing the wrath of the lady of the house, and end up in the middle of who knows where due to a seemingly average piece of jewelry. Things like that just did not happen. But, really, when had anything in Harry's life occurred the way it did for normal people?

Wincing, he lifted his right hand, intending to rub his aching head in an attempt to soothe some of the pain. However, he realized with a start, there was already something else occupying his hand. Harry gazed blankly at it for a few moments before realizing it was the necklace. Or, more accurately, it was the chain that had held the seven crystals together. The crystals, though, were now gone.

Hopefully, they weren't important. Maybe, just maybe, it was the chain that had caused all that wind? Just in case, he glanced around him, hoping that the fancy rocks had simply fallen off the chain. For some unexplainable reason, he could not shake the feeling that the crystals were significant. The chain with the crystals had sent him to this woodland. It stood to reason, that perhaps, it could also send him back. Okay, the chances of that happening were likely to be slim, but the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't about to give up without knowing for sure.

Harry stood up, intending to search the nearby ground for the crystals. Sadly, it was only then did he realize just how exhausted he truly was. He was forced to grab onto a nearby tree in order to keep himself upright. It was soon painfully obvious that he would not be able to stay upright for much longer, nor was he in any condition to search for the crystals. Tightening his grip on the rough bark, Harry contented himself by cursing himself for the next several minutes.

Just how stupid could he possibly be? What in the world had possessed him to put the bloody thing on? Why had he put the bloody thing on? Ron had warned him that it was dangerous, and he had been correct! Note to self, never put on strange necklaces. Better yet, just stay away from those dratted things.

The world slid out of focus again, tilting left, then to the right. Harry's death grip on the tree loosened as his legs lost the energy to hold him up and he slid down to the ground. Merlin, he really hoped the bloody necklace hadn't placed some sort of curse on him. The last thing he needed was another aliment that could possibly kill, if not maim, him.

He really was an idiot. A moron. A prat, an irresponsible brat…hey that rhymed…a very stupid rhyme though. Damn, even his rhymes were now stupid.

Harry leaned his head back against the bark of the tree, attempting to collect his thoughts, while at the same time, dispel the blackness growing at the edge of his vision. Past experience made him well aware that he could black out any minute how. The old hatred for Voldemort sprung up again from the depths of his heart, where it had been resting ever since the Last Battle. One way or another, just about everything that went wrong with his wife was connected to him. He wasn't exactly sure, at the moment, how this was connected, but he had no doubt it was. Somehow.

"Damn, what have you gotten yourself into this time Harry?" he muttered, his voice so faint and weak that even he could just barely hear.

Hopefully no one else was around to see him act so pathetically. Though, it would be nice if someone where around to help. No longer thinking too clearly, Harry attempted to pull out his wand with his other hand, to do Merlin knows what, but found that his arms had acquired the weight of two pieces of lead. Saying this was bad was an understatement.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Vaguely, he thought he heard some rustling, but his mind was too exhausted to process the significance of what his ears had picked up. Closing his eyes, Harry slipped out of conscious.

_*~Time~*_

When Harry next opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was or how long he had been asleep. He was lying in a bed in some sort of hospital wing, though, his first thought was that he was lying in the middle of a swimming pool full of warm vanilla ice cream. Everything was so_white_.

The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the _beds,_ they were all the same shade of alarming shade of white. Even the table next to Harry's bed was white and as was the vase on top of it, and the flowers in said vase. The stems and leaves of the flower were also the same maddening shade of white. Harry blinked. Never mind, just a trick of light then, the steams were pale green.

Hoping that he was not in some kind of mental institute, Harry attempted to sit up and put on his glasses, which, along with his wand and the chain were on the white table next to his bed. He moved slowly in an effort to not exhaust himself again. His headache was gone, but his bones were still aching with fatigue. When he was able to see properly, Harry began to carefully study the room he was in.

It wasn't a St. Mungo's wing; he had spent enough time there these last several months to not be able to identify it anywhere. It also wasn't the hospital wing at Hogwarts. The size of the room was about the same, but the beds in the ward where not the ones that Madame Pomfrey usually used. There was also the fact that the Hogwart's hospital ward had faced much destruction in the Last Battle. This one was still relatively intact.

Where was he? The whole wing was deserted so Harry really couldn't just ask.

"Ah, it seems you have awakened."

He jumped and turned in the direction the voice had come from. Apparently the wing wasn't as deserted as he had first thought. When he found the speaker, all Harry could do was stare.

If he really was in a loony bin, then he was in the right place. He had surely gone mental. Yes, he was positive that he had lost his mind. Nothing else could explain what he was seeing. Standing at the edge of Harry's bed was a person who had not been there seconds before when Harry had glanced in that direction. That person was a long bearded white haired, twinkling eyed Albus Dumbledore.

The Albus Dumbledore who had _died_ in Harry's sixth year and should have been _dead_ at that moment. Except that he wasn't. Albus Dumbledore was very much alive and observing Harry's imitation of a goldfish with a very fascinated expression.

"But you're dead!" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

The man who looked remarkably like Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows and smiled. "The last time I checked, I was very much alive. But that was a while ago, who knows what may have occurred since then."

His blue eyes twinkled brightly as the young man continued to gape at him. "Well now, are you feeling well enough to discuss a few matters?"

He observed Harry carefully as he continued. "We can discuss them later if you wish. I don't want Poppy accusing me of tiring out her patient. Merlin knows what she might do the next time I am in need of a visit of the hospital wing."

He chuckled after saying this, but did not cease to scrutinize Harry.

Harry was too busy attempting to gather his scattered wits to really care. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Okay. First things first. A man whom he had seen die three years ago was talking to him. Everything was completely fine. There was nothing to worry about. He was not losing your mind.

Harry opened his eyes to see a very much alive Dumbledore staring at him curiously.

Oh Merlin, please don't let him be crazy.

Taking another deep breath, Harry decided to address the second most pressing matter on his mind. The first, of course, was regarding his sanity and he really did not was to discuss that at the moment. "Where am I?"

Dumbledore appeared to be a little surprised by the question. Nonetheless, he answered pleasantly. "Why, you're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry of course!"

Harry could not have felt more shocked even if someone told him that Quidditch had been banned worldwide. How in the world had he gotten to Hogwarts? And why wasn't the hospital still damaged from the last battle? Surely they hadn't managed to repair all of the damage that had occurred to Hogwarts in just a few months. Repairing the damage had been estimated to take more than a couple of months, if not several years.

But, if looked really close, he found little details to the sickroom that was disturbingly familiar. Like that scratch in the bed post of the bed next over. And that crack in the ceiling that looked startlingly like a laughing dog. Just how often had he stared at it during his numerous trips to the hospital, wondering about its origin? Oh, bloody Merlin, just what was going on here?

Before Harry could voice his question aloud, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Now, do you mind telling me your name? And why, precisely, were you asleep in the middle of the Forbidden Forest? There are many much safer and more comfortable places to take a nap you know." He looked at Harry, who was still having trouble forming coherent words.

"You're quite lucky, young man that our gamekeeper found you before anything else did. Now, I'll ask again, who are you?"

Harry finally managed to remember how to speak properly. "Er, professor? Don't you recognize me?" Surely he hadn't changed that much in three years had he?

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly as something akin to understanding appeared there. "Ah, it seems my suspicious were not entirely as farfetched as I had first believed."

He regarded Harry with renewed curiosity and interest. "Now, for the third time, what is your name?"

Harry didn't answer. It had just occurred to him that this man might be a disguised Death Eater.

_But why,_ an annoying voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's said in a corner of his mind. _Why would a Death Eater pretend not to know who you are? Wouldn't a Death Eater just kill you outright to avenge the death of their Dark Lord? _

Harry nearly growled aloud at the voice's reasoning. It was just too logical for his tastes.

_I don't know,_ he snapped back. _I won't even pretend to know what goes on in the minds of those crazy Death Eaters. _

_Crazy are they, _said the voice in an infuriatingly superior manner. _What about you? Do you think sane people have conversations with themselves?_

Dumbledore watched, rather bemused, as Harry visibly paled. Oh Merlin, he was insane.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, moving closer to the bead. "Perhaps you should lay down."

Pushing aside his fears about his mental health, Harry's immediately shot toward his wand, snatching it off the white table and pointed it at Dumbledore. "Not another step, _Death Eater_."

_Are you certain he's a Death Eater, _piped up the annoying voice.

_Shut up,_ Harry replied, focusing on his target. Time enough to argue with his conscience later.

Surprisingly, the Death Eater disguised as Dumbledore did not seem even remotely worried by the wand aimed straight at him. On the contrary, he seemed amused by the entire situation than concerned or murderous. While Harry was glad about there was no murder intent in the man's face, he was rather nervous about the humored part. It would be just his luck to have gotten a crazy Death Eater.

"Death Eater? Really, is that what you think?" Dumbledore pulled up his sleeve to reveal a Death Mark free arm. "I can assure you, I am not a Death Eater."

Feeling very much like a disobedient student being scolded by a teacher, Harry lowered his wand. "Oh, er, sorry."

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore chuckled. Harry really wished that he knew exactly what was so funny. "I suppose I would have done the same in your position. Now, for the, Merlin knows which number, time, may I know your name, please?"

"Oh, right," Harry said awkwardly, running one hand through his hair, making it even messier. Lie or truth? Though a lie would be pointless once they saw his scar, if they hadn't already. "My name is Harry James Potter. Which you _should_ know if you _are_ Dumbledore. "

"Ah…" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly, ignoring the suspicion that was still being aimed at him. "I assume you are the future son of James Potter, yes?"

Harry could only splutter for a few moments, before settling on a very intelligent, "What?"

Dumbledore chuckled merrily. "It seems, Harry, that you have traveled into the past, to the year 1976 to be exact."

Oh. So that's what the joke was. Well, it wasn't very funny. Suddenly feeling extremely overwhelmed, Harry pulled his legs up to his chest and leaned his head forward, letting it rest on them as his eyes fell shut. Okay, he had traveled through time. Traveled through time. Through _time_. To his _parent's_ time. Merlin, his parent's were _alive_. And kids. Bloody Merlin, he was older than his parents! Strangely enough, that fact seemed to unsettle him more than anything.

Dumbledore seemed to realize that Harry needed some time to absorb the information.

"Now, Harry," he said as he moved towards the door. "We can discuss how you got here later. Right now you should rest before Poppy blames me for over-exhausting you."

He paused at the door and turned around a faint smile on his ancient face. "I hope to see you in my office tomorrow to discuss your acceptance of being the new DADA teacher this year."

Harry's head snapped up at this. "Wait, what? I never agreed—"

"Well," Dumbledore interrupted him, gently. "You need a valid reason to be here, do you not? And I need a new professor. We shall kill two birds with one stone."

His grin widened as his eye twinkled even more brightly.

"Besides, we cannot disappoint the students, can we? They have always had a crazy DADA professor and they will be expecting another one this year."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Had the man just called him crazy?

Apparently deciding that that was the end of the discussion, the headmaster opened the door to leave. "Now, I had better get going before Poppy throws me out. I shall see you tomorrow Harry."

"Wait!" Harry shouted after him, desperately attempting to will his legs to work. "I can't teach I have to go back to my own time!"

He stopped shouting when he realized exactly what he had said. The door closed with a sharp _click_, as Dumbledore left, unperturbed by what the newest member of his staff was shouting about.

Well, Harry thought tiredly, leaning back in his bed and shutting his eyes. That's not something I get to say every day.

**END CHAPTER TWO**

_**Press the pretty button and leave a message! ^^ **_


	3. Insufficient Explanations

_Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling, I am not a delusional person who thinks she is J.K. Rowling, nor am I ever going to change my name to J.K. Rowling. Therefore, we can conclude I do not own Harry Potter. _

Chapter 3: Insufficient Explanations

Hospital wings were created with the sole purpose of providing treatment for the ailing and wounded individuals of society.

_So why, _Harry wondered as he lay on his white bed, _did it seem more like torture to stay here?_

He had awoken only minutes before and already he was sick of staring at the white ceiling. The minutes seemed to be purposely dragging as slowly as possible just to torture him. Harry was bored out of his skull and he wanted to leave. Preferably now.

But he knew better than to just get up and leave, no matter how much he wanted to. If he really was in the past (something Harry was trying not to think too much about as he was sure it would drive him more mental then he already was), then there was a good chance Madame Pomfrey was still in charge. And he knew from experience that she did not take kindly to having her patients suddenly leave when she was under the impression that they really were in no condition to do so. Which meant he had nothing better to do than glare at the crack in the ceiling that looked uncannily like a dog laughing and try not to think too much about his current predicament.

Harry was too preoccupied with doing just that to notice the entrance of Madame Pomfrey until she was right next to his bed.

"Finally awake are you?" She said, frowning at him.

Harry jumped slightly and jerked his head in her direction so fast that an audible _crack_ was heard. Wincing, he placed a hand on the side of his neck, pressing down in an effort to reduce the pain. Right. That was smart.

"Oh really!" Madame Pomfrey huffed, looking slightly annoyed. Apparently she had taken Harry's grimace as a sign that he was in great pain. "The hospital ward is meant to be a place where one mends their injuries, _not_ where they create new ones."

She tapped her wand lightly on Harry's neck. Coldness spread from the area that the wand had touch and the pain lessened somewhat.

"Thanks." Harry said, trying to sit up.

"You can thank me by not moving a muscle!" she snapped glaring at him in such a manner that Harry was instantly reminded of Hermione.

Needless to say, his attempts to get up ceased immediately. Harry gulped, wondering exactly what had he done to earn the right to face her wrath. If he really was in the past (but hopefully he wasn't), then Madame Pomfrey did not know about his frequent visits to the hospital wing, so that couldn't be why he was on her bad side. He must have done something else to annoy her. He was at a complete loss as to what it was though.

Madame Pomfrey more or less thrust a bottle filled with a light green potion at him and ordered, "Drink it."

Harry meekly took the potion, but didn't drink it. The potion, with its ominous bubbling and faint blue mist, looked rather poisonous.

_Constant vigilance,_ piped up the voice. Harry wondered if the amusement he heard in that was just his imagination. In a desperate attempt to ignore the voice, he asked Madame Pomfrey what kind of potion it was.

Madame Pomfrey frowned at him again, but answered.

"It's a temporary pain reliever. Albus insisted I give you it so that you could go to his office when you woke. Merlin knows what is so important that he insist that I allow one of my patients to go skipping around in the castle in such a delicate state…" she trailed off grumbling.

Oh, so that was why she was mad. The Madame Pomfrey in his time did not particularly enjoy having her treatment plans overruled. Not wishing to face any more of her wrath, Harry pinched his nose and quickly downed the potion. To his surprise, it tasted a little like apples dipped in limejuice with a hint of cinnamon. Not entirely unpleasant, but still rather odd. The effects of the potion were almost immediate.

The aching tiredness in his bones did not vanish completely, but it did reduce to a point where Harry was only vaguely aware of it. He blinked at the empty container in surprise. The Healers at St. Mungo's had never given him anything like this before.

Usually, every potion that he had consumed on their orders either had no effect or some really weird side effect. Such as glittering green hair that attacked anyone and anything that got too close for 24 hours. Harry grabbed a tuft of hair and peered at it. Black. Not green or red or some other unnatural color. Just good old black.

He sighed in relief_._Good, no abnormal side effects_. _

_But there could be some delayed ones,_ the annoying voice in his head said suddenly. _And you can bet that the longer they take to appear, the worse they are. _

_Will you shut it,_ Harry snapped back, irritated more at the fact that he could still hear the voice rather than by what it had said. _If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. _

Before that conservation could continue, however, Madame Pomfrey came back to see if Harry had drunk the potion. As she took the empty bottle back, she said, "The Headmaster wants to see you right away. Merlin knows why he can't wait a couple more days until you're well again. Really, he may be the headmaster but _must_ he try to dictate what goes on in my hospital wing?"

She continued grumbling in this manner while she checked Harry over to make sure the potion had had the desired effects. She might have continued longer if Harry didn't interrupt her with a question.

"Er, Madame Pomfrey? When did you say I need to see Professor Dumbledore?"

She sniffed. "As soon as possible, he said. His office is …" She continued on to give Harry directions, but he was no longer listening.

He was worrying about what he would do if he really was in the past. He did think that the Dumbledore he had met was the real one, but a part of him just didn't want to believe he was in the past. The idea was just too _strange_. __

_It's not that strange, _the voice protested slightly indignant. _Don't you know by now that the world is full of mysterious and, as you put it, _strange_ things? _

_I really do not need your input, _Harry responded, gritting his teeth.

Had the necklace done more than just send him into the past? Was he truly crazy or was the voice something he had just imagined into being?

_Oh, really,_ huffed the voice. _I'm too unique and beautiful to have been created by someone like you._

"Will you remember that?"

Startled, Harry turned his attention back to Madame Pomfrey. She was watching him expectantly. For what, he wasn't sure. "Er, sorry?"

She repeated herself with a scowl. "I said, will you remember that?"

Realizing she was talking about Dumbledore's office, Harry quickly answered while mentally making a note to stop conversing with himself. "Yeah, I'll remember, thanks. Er, can I go now?"

She huffed and turned to leave. "If that's what you wish."

Harry got up slowly, taking care not to rush. The last thing he needed was to be confined in the hospital wing any longer than necessary. When no darkness threatened to obscure his vision, Harry moved a little faster. He stretched, enjoying the lack of aches and pain the motion brought him. Man, he hadn't felt this good since _before_ the Last Battle.

He was halfway to the Headmaster's office before he recalled the reason he was heading there. His good humor dampened considerably.

_If I really am in the past, _he thought, slowly making his way down a corridor lined with suits of armor. _Then I should be concentrating on how to get back to my own time, not teaching a bunch of mischievous brats. _

_You are aware that you yourself were once a 'mischievous brat', _the voice said amused.

_Go away, _Harry snapped. _I told you before; I don't need to hear your opinion. Who are you anyway? _

He could not believe that he hadn't asked that before.

_Harry…I am your father._

The answer was so unexpected that Harry halted right in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, but didn't even notice.

_Okay, _he thought bewildered. _That was unexpected. _

What had that bloody necklace _done_?

Then he realized that the voice was laughing at him.

_Shut _up, he thought, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

_The look on your face, _the voice snickered. _It's just too much. By the way, you'd better enter the Headmaster's office before someone comes by and sees you standing here like a loon._

Harry blinked, startled to see the familiar gargoyle statute in front of him. It was only after he opened his mouth did he realize that he had no idea what the password was. If Madame Pomfrey had mentioned it, then he hadn't heard it. Cursing himself for listening to the voice instead of Madame Pomfrey, Harry took a deep breath and began to recite the names of all the sweets that he could recall.

"Lemon drops, chocolate frogs, …er…"

He frowned. It had been so long since he'd eaten any sweet that he'd actually forgotten the names of most of them. Since the last battle, too much sugar had a very, shall we say, _scary_ effect on him. So did caffeine for that matter

_Try 'Ice Mice' _the voice said in a rather patronizing manner.

Harry gritted his teeth. Should he listen to the voice or continue to stand foolishly in front of the gargoyle? Harry wished for another choice.

_Oh just say it already_, the voice said impatiently. _Unlike _some_ people, I actually pay attention to the people speaking with me. _

Annoyed at how true what the voice said was (he had developed a bad habit of ignoring anyone who wasn't saying anything interesting, but, then again, it was hard not to between Hermione's lectures and declarations of adoration form rabid fans), Harry accidentally spoke out loud.

"You do not exist. You're just my imagination. I will _not_ say 'Ice Mice.'"

The gargoyle sprang to life and moved.

_Oh wow, _the voice snickered in a manner that strangely reminded Harry of Malfoy. _You're a regular genius, aren't you? _

Deciding it was in the best interest of maintaining whatever pride he had left to ignore the voice, Harry proceeded up the spiraling stairway. Reaching the door, he knocked twice. When there was no answer, he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked so Harry opened it and proceeded inside.

The office was almost exactly as he remembered. The only difference was that Dumbledore's portrait was missing from its place of honor among the rows of all the other previous headmasters and headmistress. Fawkes was on his usual perch, fast asleep at the moment.

_Wow, a phoenix… _

The awe in the voice's, er, voice, was clear. Ignoring it, Harry scanned the office, wondering where in the world Dumbledore was, because he certainly wasn't here. Slightly annoyed that he had come all the way here and Dumbledore wasn't even there to greet him, Harry plopped down into his usual chair, leaned back, and, on a whim, placed his feet on the desk.

_Harry, down! Get your feet off the desk, _the voice snapped. 

_What am I, a dog? _Harry replied, a bit pleased at how appalled the voice was. _Why should I even listen to you? __You don't exist. I hear nothing. _

_You're about to meet the greatest wizard of all time, _the voice shouted, which hurt, since it was in Harry's head. _Show some respect. _

_If he's so great, then why isn't he on time for his own appointments _Harry shot back, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't hearing voices.

"Nice to see you've made yourself right at home, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore appeared at the door, his eyes twinkling in an amused fashion.

"Dumbledore!" Startled, Harry swung his feet off, managing to knock down several of the strange objects on the desk in the process. He ignored them and proceeded to pelt the Headmaster with his questions. "Have you figured out why I'm here? What in the world is going on? I won't teacher! I-"

"Calm down, Harry." Dumbledore sat down calmly onto his chair. "All your questions will be answered in due time."

He seemed oddly undistributed by the fact that Harry was only inches away from drowning him in questions.

The voice, unfortunately, wasn't as calm.

_Were you raised in a jungle, Harry? Can't you at least greet him before demanding answers? _The voice snapped, positively fuming.

Harry just pushed it away, concentrating on Dumbledore.

"Well my boy," Dumbledore said, beaming at Harry. "Ask away."

Harry chose to address the most pressing matter.

"I can't be a teacher!" He insisted, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know _how_ to teach, I've never taught before, I never even finished school-"

"I'm afraid, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, serious now. "That you will have teach. You're only other option is to go to the Ministry. However, they might just label you a Death Eater and lock you away. You're welcome to stay at Hogwarts of course, but you need to provide them with valid reason for your presence."He smiled. "And if you don't agree, I'm afraid that I will not be able to help you with your dilemma and you shall have to go to the Ministry."

Harry frowned. "Are you blackmailing me?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in barely concealed amusement. "I prefer the term 'compromising.'"

"It's blackmail." Harry stated flatly. He took a deep breath, attempting to keep his temper in check. It wasn't working.

"Call it what you wish, Harry. Do you agree to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher for this school year?"

"Wouldn't the Ministry notice that I don't have any records?" Harry demanded, ignoring the question.

"As long as you do not give them reason to notice your presence," the old man replied cheerfully. "Then they will be too occupied with rounding up Death Eaters to notice."

_Any ideas, voice?_ He asked mentally. Of course, the one time he _wanted_ the voice to reply it didn't.

Sighing, he relented, "I agree."

"Excellent."

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, a piece of parchment appeared on the desk, along with a pale brown quill. "Sign this and we'll be all set."

Without even bothering to read the contract, Harry scrawled his name in his messiest handwriting. He'd teach, but he would not be happy about it.

Dumbledore vanished the parchment with a flick of his wand. "Now, let us address your predicament. How did you get here?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to tell me, _sir_?" Harry shot back, too annoyed to care about his rudeness.

_Harry, behave,_ the voice snapped, only to be ignored.

Dumbledore smiled with ever-lasting patience. "Allow me to rephrase that. Did you do anything out of the ordinary that could be responsible for your little trip?"

"Oh." Now Harry felt rather dumb. He quickly relayed his tale to Dumbledore, from the Weasly's attic to the box that the necklace had been in to the whirlwind that had sent him here. The old man listened attentively, not even the smallest flickers of a surprise crossing his face at the extraordinary things he was being told.

"So," He said, thoughtfully when Harry finished. "You put on a necklace and found yourself in the past, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. That is a bit inconvenient."

_I know!_ Harry shouted in his head.

_Calm down_ was the reply.

_I am not going crazy._ Harry told himself firmly, ignoring the voice. He focused instead on the Headmaster's inquiries.

"The necklace, can you describe it?"

Harry scowled. What did the appearance of the jewelry have to do with anything? He answered nonetheless. "It was a little strange-looking. It was made completely of crystal, even the chain…"

Harry suddenly remembered that he had the chain in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to Dumbledore.

"Ah." The old headmaster said, seemingly recognizing it. "That simplifies things considerably. Were there any crystals on the chain?"

"Yeah," Harry said, surprised. "There were-"

"Seven?"

Hope began to blossom in Harry's chest as he nodded. Had Dumbledore figured out what had happened?

"Well, Harry. All you must to do to in order to return home is retrieve all seven of the crystals. Problem solved." Dumbledore leaned back, satisfied.

"Problem solved?" Harry said incredulously. "The problem just got bigger! I don't know where any of the crystals are!"

"But I do know the location of one of the crystals." Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "All you must do is retrieve it and then search for the second one. Simple."

"Where is it?" Harry demanded, feeling the whole situation was anything but simple.

"Why, were you arrived of course. In the middle of the Forbidden Forest." Dumbledore reached for the bowl of lemon drops on his desk."Would you care for a lemon drop?" he asked, helping himself to a few.

"What? No! I-"

Harry was interrupted by a loud buzzing. One of the instruments, the one Harry had knocked to the ground, had suddenly begun to emit a shrill, ringing sound.

Dumbledore regarded it calmly. "It seems the group that I was expecting is arriving ahead of schedule."

He got up and motioned for Harry to do the same.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I must ask you to leave now. If you want to visit the Forbidden Forest, just look for Hagrid. You can't miss him. He's the only half-giant in the castle."

Fawkes, who had awoken sometime during the exchange, left its perch and settled on Harry's right shoulder.

"Fawkes will accompany you." The old man added.

And with that said, Harry found himself being politely but firmly pushed out the door before he could voice a protest.

Just before the door closed behind him, Harry heard the unmistakable sounds of someone, perhaps two someone's, stumbling into the room. A voice, a young boy's by the sounds of it, was cursing profoundly. A more mature voice was reprimanding the younger. The door shut however before Harry could see the new arrivals, though frankly, Harry wasn't too curious about why he had been so abruptly kicked out. He was too busy stressing over what Dumbledore had said.

He mulled over all his problems as he began the long walk to Hagrid's cabin. And boy, did he have a lot of them.

He was in the past, searching for pieces of rock that he had no idea where they were to get home though he had no idea how the crystals would do that. Plus, he was expected to teach children who were barely younger that he was. And, don't forget about his magical exhaustion sleeping disorder thing. The potion that Madame Pomfrey had given him seemed to have dispelled a good deal of his fatigue, but he wasn't sure how long that would last.

On the bright side though, there were no egomaniacal, snake-loving, psychopaths after his blood. Well, yet anyway.

**END CHAPTER THREE**


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